


Chained to a Comet

by Epiphanyx7



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Married Couple, Presumed Dead, Sadness, castiel is a sad bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has Jimmy's body, but he's not Jimmy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chained to a Comet

**Author's Note:**

> I tried so very hard, this story was all spread out in my mind and there was angst and tiny joyful bits and _Jimmy_ , and then I tried to write it down and it all fell flat. So hopefully this version, which has less sex, less Claire, and less Jimmy than I wanted, won't be too disappointing. Beta'd by sunspot, who managed to not make me cry in shame and tear out my own hair whilst rocking back and forth in the fetal position.
> 
> Written for Scorpiod1 in the spn_hetexchange 2010.

\---

Amelia opens the door in the middle of a thunderstorm to see Jimmy standing hunched over on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets. Rainwater is dripping from his hair and clothes, rivulets running over his skin, an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at her, surprised. He's shivering, pale, and when he raises his beautiful blue eyes to meet hers, she can feel tears welling up in her own eyes.  
  
For a moment she expects Jimmy to smile at her, to send her the same boyish grin that got him out of trouble all the time. _Ames,_ he'd say, _I'm really sorry, sweetheart,_ and she'd melt like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. Every time.  
  
"I didn't have anywhere else to go," he says, instead, and her heart plummets even as she opens the door wider, steps aside to let him inside.  
  
Castiel, not Jimmy.  
  
Tears prick her eyes, but Amelia has always been a practical woman, and so she clears her throat and tries to keep her voice even. "Let’s get you into some dry clothes," she says briskly to the dripping wet angel standing in her front hall. She tries not to notice the grateful look he sends in her direction, but it's there anyway.  
  
\--  
  
Castiel grips his spoon in his fist when he eats soup, like a child. He's hunched over the table and he seems to be overly concerned with not spilling any of the soup on its way to his mouth. Amelia feels the silence stretch out between them, but she has nothing to say.  
  
"Thank you," he says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He looks as if he hasn't had a proper meal in forever, hasn't been warm in longer, hasn't been treated well at all. He's wearing Jimmy's pajamas and his feet are wrapped up in three pairs of thick woolen socks. He's got a blanket tucked around his shoulders, still shivering a little bit, but a warm flush has spread over his skin.  
  
"You're welcome," Amelia replies stiffly, taking his bowl and spoon and putting them in the sink full of soapy water, washing them immediately out of habit.  
  
Behind her, Castiel gets to his feet, awkwardly, moving slowly, painfully, as if he was an old man. Amelia doesn't turn around, doesn't move, she holds her breath as she scrubs the dishes in water so hot it almost burns, silent tears dripping down her cheeks and mingling soundlessly with the soapy water.  
  
Castiel puts his hands on her shoulders, perhaps meant to be a measure of comfort. She holds her breath. After refusing to acknowledge his presence for a long moment, she finally sighs in relief when he shuffles out of the room.  
  
\--  
  
Jimmy used to open door for her all the time, a real old-fashioned gentleman. He did it automatically, without thinking, and Amelia had fifteen years of telling him _I can open the door myself, you know,_ under her belt. Fifteen years of Jimmy winning their unvoiced argument every time she sighed and stepped through the door that he'd opened for her. _Can't help it, Ames,_ he'd say. _I love you too much to stop,_ and how was she supposed to argue against that?  
  
Castiel holds the door open for her, but with him it's different: it's a conscious effort, his shoulders lined with tension. He's trying to be nice to her, but he's almost painfully awkward in his attempts, like a newborn foal, perpetually seconds away from tumbling to the ground in stunned confusion. Rejecting his fumbling, nervous overtures makes her feel as if she's kicking a puppy.  
  
"Thank you," Amelia says, finally, as she steps through the doorway. She doesn't notice the way Castiel's eyes drop to the ground and his cheeks flush pink with colour at her words. She does notice his hands, though, strong capable hands that close the door behind them, before he once more hides them in his (Jimmy's) pockets. His shoulders relax a minute, incalculable amount, though, and she feels a little better afterward.  
  
\---  
  
"I don’t know how to dance," Castiel confesses, and then he eyes the couples on the dance floor, a small crease of concentration appearing between his eyebrows.  
  
"It’s not that hard," Amelia offers.  
  
"Indeed," Castiel replies, raising his eyebrow in the direction of a pair of flailing arms and twitching legs attached to a bright green tie and a mortified-looking partner. "I think I could manage myself adequately," he adds, in a tone that would be scathingly sarcastic on anyone else. On Castiel, it's matter-of-fact.  
  
Amelia nods distractedly. She is eating her dessert, watching Claire out of the corner of her eye as her daughter makes her way across the dance floor with a shy young man with bright eyes and dark hair. It's not until she turns and looks at Castiel that she sees his expression, wide-eyed and hopeful, fingers tugging at his napkin, and she realizes that Castiel is asking her to dance.  
  
She smiles, fondly. Castiel is rumpled and overeager and so much like a child sometimes -- so much like Jimmy, the Jimmy she knew a long time before. "Would you like me to join you?" She asks, and his eyes sparkle as he gets to his feet.  
  
\---  
  
There are obvious differences.  
  
Jimmy drank his coffee with cream and sweetener, but Castiel dumps spoonfuls of sugar into his cup and slurps at it enthusiastically without stirring, never failing to make a confused and horrified face when he gets to the end and drinks the syrupy-sweet dregs from the bottom of the mug. Jimmy would joke and laugh all of the time; the only one who can make Castiel smile is Claire, and the first time he laughs Amelia stops and stares at him, because his laugh is the same as Jimmy's, loud and unrestrained.  
  
Jimmy's car is cherry red, in perfect condition, he used to wash it every Sunday afternoon with loving care. Now it sits, unused and untouched, in the garage because Castiel doesn't drive. He walks, though, all the way downtown to the office where he works (as James Nathaniel Novak) selling ad space on billboards. Jimmy had been right handed, but Castiel is perfectly ambidextrous, preferring to use his left hand for some things like eating and writing.  
  
When he's sleeping on the couch in the living room, though, with his hair mussed and lines on his face from the pillowcase, when his eyes are closed with the lashes resting peacefully on his skin, Amelia can't tell the difference. He's content and warm, radiating heat like a furnace and snoring softly, mouth slightly open, and he's _Jimmy_ ; Jimmy's body, Jimmy's breath puffing up when he twists in the thin blankets, Jimmy's eyes that glitter deep and blue as he wakes up, blurry, blinking up at her in confusion.  
  
"This couch is going to kill your back," Amelia says softly, resting a hand on his shoulder, and she doesn't say _I miss my husband more than ever,_ she doesn't say _When I look at you all I can see is the man I lost,_ she doesn't say _Jimmy doesn't even know how much I loved him, how much I still love him_.  
  
She says, "Come to bed," and turns around, waiting in the dark for Castiel to gather his few things, the flattened pillow and thin sheet he sleeps with, and then she leads him upstairs to the master bedroom, to the room she should be sharing with her husband. She climbs under the covers, and Castiel pauses for a brief moment before he turns off the light and joins her.  
  
Castiel sleeps on Jimmy's side of the bed, with Amelia wide awake next to him. She keeps her breathing slow and even, and when she closes her eyes, she can almost believe that the past two hears have all been a nightmare. She can almost believe that everything is as it should be.  
  
"Good night, Jimmy," Amelia whispers.  
  
\--  
  
She wakes up wrapped in her husband’s arms, Jimmy’s cheek warm against her own; stubble rasping against her skin. In the soft dewy light of dawn with the curtains pulled shut, tucked into the duvet and with quiet all around them, Amelia almost falls back asleep.  
  
Jimmy opens his eyes, smiles at her. It’s the same joyous smile she’s seen every morning. This one is for her, and for her alone; the smile on his face as the minister asked _"Do you, James Novak, take this woman..."_ it’s the smile that lets her know that with every morning and every moment he _loves_ her, always and forever.  
  
"Morning," Jimmy rumbles, his voice rough with sleep, harsh even though he pitches his voice low, for her ears only.  
  
"Morning," Amelia replies, holding him close, pressing a soft kiss against his sleep. Jimmy is peaceful like this, content and happy, and she holds him close.  
  
"Go back to sleep, love," she whispers.  
  
\--  
  
Later, when breakfast is on the table and Claire is buttering her toast, dipping it bite by bite into her strawberry yogurt, Amelia sips her coffee and tries not to be disappointed when Castiel is the one who walks down the stairs.  
  
\--


End file.
